Is this a holy thing to see, In a rich and fruitful land, Babes reduced to misery, Fed with cold and usurous hand? Is that trembling cry a song? Can it be a song of joy? And so many children poor? It is a land of poverty! And their sun does never shine, And their fields and bleak & bare, And their ways are fill'd with thorns; It is eternal winter there. For where-e'er the sun does shine, And where-e'er the rain does fall, Babe can never hunger there, Nor poverty the mind appall. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVERS' INFINITENESS by JOHN DONNE WHEN HE WOULD HAVE HIS VERSES READ by ROBERT HERRICK THE HEART OF THE WOMAN by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS BUCK O' KINGWATTER by ROBERT ANDERSON OF CARLISLE A CONCLUSORIE HUMNE TO THE SAME WEEK; & FOR MY FRIEND by JOSEPH BEAUMONT AN AUTUMN TRINKET by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT by ROBERT BURNS |